


Get Me To The Onsen On Time

by Sandyclaws68



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Dorks in Love, M/M, Phichit runs the wedding show, They're so in love it's scary, Viktor is supportive, Wedding Planning, Wedding anxiety, Yurio has a potty mouth, Yuuri worries about everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9965246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandyclaws68/pseuds/Sandyclaws68
Summary: Planning a wedding is always a stressful business.  Doing it in barely a month?  Off the charts.Or the one in which Yuuri is stressed, Viktor proves to be the epitome of a supportive fiance, Yurio is Yurio, and Phichit takes charge of the entire mess.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title is loosely" borrowed" from _Get Me To The Church On Time_ with apologies to Mssrs. Lerner and Lowe.

They had chosen to get married in the spring, in Hasetsu, despite the turn their life together had taken after the Grand Prix Final in December. A turn that had found them in Russia, room mates, rink mates, and rivals in addition to everything else they were to each other. The World Championships had been interesting, to say the least.

But Viktor had insisted, even going so far as to choose the one year anniversary of the day he had erupted into the lives of the Katsuki family and the people of Hasetsu.

_It'll be so romantic, Yuuri, with cherry blossoms falling all around us like snow!_

_I guess that's better than the real snow that had fallen that day._

But an April wedding, following so soon after the competition season, didn't leave them with a whole lot of time to plan. So by necessity the ceremony would be small and intimate, just family and their closest friends. Another, larger, celebration would be held later in the year, one in which their extended skating family would play a role.

Immediately after Worlds Yuuri had dove straight into panic mode, swinging between worry over every niggling little detail and insecurity about the strength of Viktor's affection for him. The latter was combated almost every evening when they went to bed but the former was not so easily fought.

But one anxiety-driven, nearly incomprehensible phone call to Phichit had changed all that.

 

_**T-minus 73 hours and 26 minutes ~ AKA 8:34 AM Wednesday April 12** _

“You know, if figure skating ever falls through you have a definite future as a wedding planner,” Yuuri said that morning as they lingered over breakfast, Phichit cradling an enormous binder on his lap.

The Thai man snorted. “Please,” he scoffed. “ _All_ of my party planning skills are top-notch, not just weddings.” He flipped through a few pages in the notebook, made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, then looked up to meet Yuuri's eyes. “Okay, you have a final fitting of your kimono at two this afternoon, and Viktor has his at three. I'm trying to accommodate the hours you two – and I – need to train, so if anything needs to be changed you had better let me know right now.”

Yuuri shook his head. “Viktor and I agreed that this morning would be our last training session until after the wedding. It's just too complicated trying to keep up with everything otherwise.” He glanced down at his watch. “And speaking of training we need to get going. As my fiancé Viktor might be understanding but as my coach his attitude is merciless, and he's not likely to cut you any slack either.”

“Mmmm,” Phichit hummed, flipping to another section in his planning notebook. “Oh, and Yakov, Mila, and the Plisetskys arrive in Osaka late this afternoon. They'll stay overnight and then catch the Shinkansen to Fukuoka tomorrow morning. Viktor said he wanted to meet them there rather than have them continue on train to Hasetsu. As of right now they're expected to arrive at about one tomorrow afternoon, but that might change.”

Yuuri nodded, rising to his feet and clearing the dishes off of the table before making his way to the kitchen. He dipped everything into the sanitizing sink before loading it into the industrial dishwasher. He could hear his sister's grumbling voice in the adjacent laundry room, and he called out a farewell, laughing at her somewhat angry acknowledgment. Mari, more than anyone, was feeling the stress, trying to balance running the onsen with the wedding preparations. Once all of the insanity was over Yuuri had every intention of forcing her to take some much needed time off, but right now they all just needed to bear with it.

When they arrived at Ice Castle a little over half an hour later they found Viktor on the phone, nodding his head and not saying a word, only making the occasional negative or affirmative sound. Both Yuuri and Phichit easily recognized Celestino's voice even without the call being on speaker. With a grin Phichit sidled across the locker room, plucking the phone out of Viktor's hand. He smoothly slid into the rhythm of the conversation, imitating the noises Viktor had been making. The Russian brought his hands together, almost in prayer, and bowed his thanks before moving to kiss his fiancé in greeting.

“What does Celestino want?” Yuuri asked as soon as their lips parted, chuckling as Viktor's face turned down in a scowl.

“The same thing he always wants, lately. 'When will you return my top skater?' 'I have a new skater with amazing raw talent. Would you choreograph a program for her first year in the junior division?' The list goes on from there.” Viktor sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. “I couldn't even get a word in edgewise to remind him that we can talk about all of this in person when he arrives for the wedding.”

“Yes, well, Celestino has always been like that; as soon as he thinks of something he needs to talk about it. He called me at two o'clock in the morning one time because he remembered I had left my scarf in his car.”

The corners of Viktor's lips twitched as he fought the desire to grin, and Yuuri mentally patted himself on the back for cutting short the other man's black mood. They both took seats on one of the benches to don their skates; Viktor, as he always did, kneeling to make sure Yuuri's were tied properly and not too tight. It was a ritual that had started months ago, before the short program at the Rostelecom Cup. At competitions it served to soothe Yuuri's pre-performance jitters, but in this setting it was more of a gesture of love. He reached out and pushed Viktor's long bangs away from his face, receiving a gentle smile in return.

“Geez, okay, fine!” Phichit's exasperated voice could be heard from the other side of the bank of lockers. “Ciao, ciao! See you soon!” He appeared from behind the lockers and sank onto the bench beside Yuuri, pointing at Viktor. “He says you and he will continue your discussion after the wedding.” Then he laughed. “I think he's a little pissed that he didn't notice we had swapped his conversation partner until damn near the end of the call.”

Yuuri snorted. “How could he notice if he was doing ninety per cent of the talking?”

A statement with which Viktor wholeheartedly agreed. He rose smoothly to his feet, his coach mask slipping into place in the blink of an eye. “We're not taking it easy today because it's the last training session for a few days.” He glanced at Yuuri. “You're working on your footwork and step sequence, and I'd better not see a single sloppy free leg.” Then he turned to Phichit. “Get your skates on and meet us out there. I want at least five perfect quad Salchows out of you before lunch.” Then he was gone, out of the locker room, the loud clanking of his blade guards echoing behind him.

Phichit looked pale as Yuuri stood up, adjusting the gloves on his hands. “Fi. . . Five?” he managed to stammer out.

“I told you he was merciless as a coach.”

****~**~**~**~**~****

They passed each other later that afternoon, Yuuri leaving the special tailor's shop just as Viktor entered. “See you at home when you're done,” he said, rising on his toes to brush a quick kiss to the Russian's cheek. Viktor acknowledged the gesture with a squeeze of Yuuri's forearm and a nod. He would like to have his fiancé present during his fitting, but he knew that they were running on a pretty tight schedule with less than three days till the wedding. Phichit would have a fit if either of them fell behind now.

And even as that thought passed through his head his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was, as expected, a message from Phichit asking if he had made it to his fitting. Viktor snapped and sent a photo of himself outside the tailor's shop, hoping that the visual confirmation would tide their friend/wedding planner over until the next crisis. Yuuri grinned and walked off, waving over his shoulder.

Just over an hour later Viktor left the shop, receipt in his pocket and conformation that both wedding kimonos would be delivered to Yu-topia the next day. He was immensely pleased with how his had turned out; the soft green color was not one he would have normally chosen for himself but he was thankful he had trusted the color consultant's eye. His only regret was he had been unable to convince anyone in the shop to give him any hints about what color Yuuri would be wearing, everyone insisting it was bad luck to know. They all assured him that he'd be pleasantly surprised, though, and he didn't doubt that one bit.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and quickly pulled it out, opening the text message.

**From: Ice Kitten**

<Landing in about an hour>

<Will let you know when we arrive at hotel>

<Grandpa can't wait to try actual katsudon>

Viktor grinned at his phone before typing back a quick response.

**To: Ice Kitten**

<Take care and be safe>

<Don't forget to let us know which train you get to Fukuoka>

<I'll make sure Mama Hiroko has steaming bowls ready>

**From: Ice Kitten**

<You already call her Mom>

<That's sick>

Viktor had to laugh at the Yurio-ness of that last comment. Plisetsky may have passed his sixteenth birthday but he had yet to show any signs mellowing. In a way Viktor hoped he never would; life just wouldn't be the same without all the barbed comments and blatant insults. Not that any of them ever really hurt, but what Yurio didn't know was not likely to bother anyone.

He quickly shot a text to Yuuri with the update before heading off to Ice Castle, hoping to get in at least another hour of practice. It was hypocritical of him, of course, after insisting that Yuuri and Phichit were done after that morning's session. But he was twenty-eight years old, looking to get one more successful season out of his body before retiring for good, so every moment he could spend on the ice was one step further along that road.

At least that's what he convinced himself. And he wasn't in the least surprised when he got to the rink and found his fiancé and his fiancé’s best friend on the ice, practicing footwork and spins. He just smiled as he joined them.

 

_**T-Minus 45 hours and 46 minutes ~ AKA 12:14 PM Thursday April 13** _

Yuuri's warm hand reached across the center console of the car and rested on Viktor's knee, stilling the agitated motion of the Russian's fingers. “That is not going to make the traffic clear up any faster, Vitya,” he said, doing his best not to smile. “And it's really annoying and distracting for the person driving the car.”

Viktor smiled in apology and entwined his fingers with Yuuri's, raising their hands to kiss the back of his finance's. “Sorry,” he said, pulling his hand free and sliding it beneath his thigh, stilling the offending fingers. “I'm just a bit more excited than I thought.”

“It's just Yakov, Mila, and Yurio.”

“Yes, and the three of them have all been to Japan before,” Viktor acknowledged. “But Nikolai. . . He's never been out of Russia in his life and I want to make sure this is a wonderful experience for him.”

Traffic started moving at that moment, but Yuuri chanced a quick look at Viktor before returning his attention to his driving. “You sound rather. . . caring,” he said as he smoothly shifted gears. “I didn't realize that you knew Yurio's grandfather so well.”

A sigh came from the passenger seat. “You know that Yura was only ten when he first came to Saint Petersburg to train, right?” When Yuuri nodded Viktor continued. “His mother was – is – not very interested in anything to do with skating. She refused her permission for him to make the move for nearly six months. It was only after Kolya agreed to go with him that she relented.”

“Kolya?”

“An affectionate nickname for Nikolai,” Viktor explained before continuing the story. “So they came to Saint Petersburg together, and they moved in with me. I was living in my parents' old house, trying to sell the damned thing after my mother's death, and there was plenty of room for the three of us. Well, four, counting Makkachin. And it was the best time! It had been years since I felt anything like a family around me, and suddenly there they were!” He laughed, a little sadly. “I remember at the time thinking I should have realized it was too good to last.”

“What happened?” Yuuri asked, his voice quiet as the car came to a halt again.

“Irina Plisetskaya learned of my 'sexual proclivities', as she termed them,” Viktor all but spat out. Yuuri could see a muscle jumping in his cheek, a sure sign that he was clenching his jaw. “I was in a relationship with a player on the national hockey team at the time, and she refused to allow her son to continuing living with a 'pervert' in his 'house of sin'.” He exhaled a gusty breath. “Kolya leaped to my defense, declaring that I was one of the best things to ever happen to his grandson and refusing to even consider taking Yura back to Moscow. It looked to be shaping up into a very messy legal fight when Yakov stepped in. I'm not exactly sure how, but he managed to convince Irina to back down and allow Yurio to stay with us.” He snorted derisively. “I expect some sort of financial blandishment was used.”

Yuuri felt his jaw drop and hastened to snap his mouth shut. “I, uh. . . I mean. . .”

“She ended up signing over custodial responsibility to Nikolai and Yakov, and when Nikolai returned to Moscow Yakov became Yura's sole guardian.” Viktor glanced at his fiance out of the corner of his eye. “You didn't now that, did you? That Yakov is that much more than a coach to Yurio.”

“I didn't, you're right,” was the whispered response. Then a brief grind of gears before they started moving again. “What else don't I know?”

Viktor sighed. “If anything happens to Yakov before Yura turns eighteen I become his guardian.”

The steering wheel slipped for a moment and the car veered to the right before Yuuri regained control. “And you didn't think it was important to tell me this before we got married?” he squawked out.

“I just did.”

“Viktor. . .”

“Okay, okay!” The Russian reached out and covered Yuuri's hand where it rested on the gearshift. “I don't like to talk about it because it means thinking about things I actively try to avoid.”

“Like something happening to Yakov or Nikolai.”

“More or less. But also what kind of guardian – what kind of father figure – would I be if forced into that position?” He shuddered, giving Yuuri's hand a squeeze. “It's rather terrifying to contemplate.”

“If – and that's an awfully big _if_ – something were to happen I'm sure you'd be fine,” Yuuri replied, sending a quick smile Viktor's way. “You've had Yakov and Nikolai as your role-models; I don't think you could do better than that. And Yurio knows how deeply you care for him, even if he is an ass when it comes to articulating his own feelings.”

Viktor had to chuckle at that succinct description of the Ice Kitten's personality. He laid his head on the back of the car seat with a sigh. “And I have you to help me,” he whispered. “To be at my side and make things easier.”

“I'll certainly try. Ahhhh!” The pleased gasp had Viktor lifting his head to see the traffic ahead of them starting to clear now that they were passing where an accident had occurred. “See?” Yuuri commented with a sidelong glance for his fiancé. “We're not going to be late after all!” The drive continued for a few minutes in silence, but then Yuuri spoke again. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I. . . I feel like I understand you just the tiniest bit more, now, and if something happens and we do end up. . . well, you know, I'll do everything in my power to make you and Yurio happy.”

Viktor blinked rapidly, holding back tears. “You already make me happier than I've ever been, _solnyshko_. Sometimes I wonder what I did that so pleased a deity that I am allowed you have you in my life.”

Yuuri's warm laughter filled the car and he looked like he was about to reply when his phone rang, the familiar strains of _Shall We Skate?_ the only clue they needed as to who was on the other end. With a grin Viktor pushed the button on the steering wheel to answer the call and Phichit's voice rang out in the vehicle's confines.

“Where the hell are you two? I just had Plisetsky on the phone in a rage because their train arrived early and you guys are nowhere to be found!”

The engaged couple burst into laughter. “We got caught in a traffic snarl, Phichit, that's all. It's clear now and we should be at the train station in ten minutes,” Yuuri replied. “Tell Yurio to stay put and we'll be there soon.” Then he hung up before anything else could be said, glancing at Viktor out of the corner of his eye. “I know you probably already do this, but a few extra prayers for Yakov's health couldn't hurt.”

Which comment caused Viktor to laugh that much harder.

****~**~**~**~**~****

They spotted Mila as soon as they drove past the front of the train station. It wasn't exactly hard; with the sun shining her red hair acted like a beacon, especially in a sea of dark haired heads. Viktor reached over and honked the horn just as they drew abreast of where she stood, catching her attention. With a smile and a wave Mila went back inside the station, and a second later Viktor's phone beeped.

**From St. Mila**

<Circle around I'll bring them out>

“Why is she saved in your phone as “saint” Mila?” Yuuri asked as he steered the car around the block. “I've never met anyone with a wickeder sense of humor or more mischief in her soul.”

“Are you kidding?” Viktor said around a chuckle. “You've met my rink mates, right? She'd have to be a saint to put up with all of that!”

When they got back to the station Yuuri parked in the passenger loading zone, hazard lights blinking. Less than a minute passed before Mila appeared, dragging a grumbling Yurio by the hand, Yakov and Nikolai following at a more sedate pace. The elder Plisetsky's face was creased in an enormous smile as soon as Viktor got out of the car.

“Vitya!” he exclaimed, stepping forward to enfold the younger man in a tight embrace.

Viktor returned the hug enthusiastically, but with perhaps a little less pressure. He had to bend over quite a bit to kiss the man's cheek. “Welcome to Japan, _dedushka_ ,” he said before stepping back with a grin to gesture Yuuri forward. “I don't believe you two have officially met.” He rested one hand at the small of Yuuri's back. “Katsuki Yuuri, meet Nikolai Plisetsky, also known more familiarly as Grandpa.”

Yuuri bowed low out of respect to the older gentleman, managing to stumble through a greeting in his still halting and broken Russian. Nikolai's smile widened as he bowed in return, then said something to Viktor in rapid-fire Russian that Yuuri couldn't make out.

Viktor laughed. “He said that Yurio taught him about bowing and also a few words of Japanese.”

“ _Konichiwa_ , Katsuki-san,” Nikolai said, a little tongue-tangled on the unfamiliar wording. Then, without another word, he stepped closer and caught Yuuri in a rib-creaking hug.

Yurio appeared at that moment, having managed to shake off Mila, and opened the lift gate of the SUV to start loading their luggage. He spoke to his grandfather in a soft voice, sounding kinder than Yuuri had ever head, and the elder Plisetsky released the Japanese man with another bow and a smile. That was Yurio's cue to grab Yuuri by the hand, shaking it emphatically. “He regards Viktor as part of his family, you know, so now you are too.” He pulled on Yuuri's hand, bringing them face to face, and growled “Don't disappoint him.”.

Yuuri felt a smile tug on one corner of his mouth. He had spent the last year learning the unique language of the self-proclaimed Ice Tiger of Russia; learning how to parse out the dozens of different meanings behind every curse, every shout, every snarl and every scowl. This one was easier than most. “I won't disappoint you, Yura,” he replied, voice barely above a whisper.

Yurio jerked back in surprise, pulling their hands apart. “What?!” he exclaimed. “It's not like I give a shit, stupid _katsudon_.” But his cheeks were a little pinker than usual and the spark in his eyes could almost be described as affection.

“Of course you don't; what was I thinking?” Yuuri commented, lower lip caught between his teeth to keep his tiny smile from growing into a full blown grin. “I meant I won't – I'd never – disappoint your grandfather.”

With a nod Yurio tossed a suitcase into the cargo area of the SUV, ignoring Mila's protest at the disrespect to her bag. “See that you don't,” he snapped out with one last glare before walking off, absorbed in something on his phone.

“You understand him surprisingly well.”

Yuuri jumped at the quiet voice beside him and looked down into Mila's startlingly blue eyes. She winked before continuing. “It's taken most of us years to see underneath all of that anger and bluster, yet you manage it without effort.”

“Must be something in having the same name,” Yuuri commented, grinning when Mila giggled.

“That's as good an explanation as any, I suppose.”

****~**~**~**~**~****

Nikolai proclaimed katsudon one of the best things he had ever eaten, and then spent the rest of the evening ensconced with Hiroko, teaching her the secrets of piroshki in the universal language of the kitchen. Yakov was in one corner of the communal dining area, engaged in a heated (and slightly drunken) debate with Minako about the merits of ballet versus other varieties of dance while Phichit and Yurio snickered at the antics of their elders.

_And knowing Phichit no doubt filming everything on his phone as future blackmail material_ , Yuuri thought to himself. He was just about to step in and put a stop to it when an arm came around his waist from behind and he sighed, relaxing back into Viktor's solid warmth. “We should probably step in before there's bloodshed,” the Russian said with a nod towards the coach and the ballet instructor. “Minako's a lot like Lilia in some respects, and I can tell you from personal experience that where Yakov is concerned that  _never_ ends well.”

Yuuri just shook his head and smiled. “No need,” he commented, carefully watching his old ballet teacher before glancing at his watch. “Right. . . about. . . now.” The soon-to-be-married pair stifled their laughter as Minako's eyes closed and she pitched forward into Yakov's arms, her body finally giving in to the alcohol coursing through her system.

“Katsuki!” Yakov shouted, glancing frantically around the room. “Do something, dammit!”

“Yes, Coach!” Yuuri managed to choke out, doing his best to keep his laughter contained. He crossed the room at the same time as his sister, and between the two of them they managed to get Minako peeled off of Yakov and into Takeshi's arms, who half-dragged her to the room always kept aside for her use on nights like this.

As soon as they were out of the room Yuuri looked up and met Viktor's eyes. “Family, huh?” the Russian man asked, one eyebrow raised.

Yuuri glanced around the room, taking in the sleeping Nishigori triplets, Phichit and Yurio huddled together over their phones, Yuuko laying a gentle hand on Takeshi's shoulder when he came back in, and even Yakov's habitual scowl. His smile was soft as he reached out a hand, waiting for Viktor to meet him where he was. “I wouldn't have them any other way,” he whispered as he nestled his head under the taller man's jaw.

“Me neither.”

 

_**T-Minus 21 hours and 18 minutes ~ AKA 12:42 PM Friday, April 14** _

When Phichit shoved the paper bag into Yuuri's hand the Japanese man stared at it for a long moment before raising it to his mouth, making a conscious effort to get his breathing under control. Mari, who had rushed into the kitchen as soon as she heard her brother's anguished wail, seemed to view the situation as under control and went back to her own chores, giving Yuuri a reassuring smile as she left. It seemed to work a little; when he lowered the bag from his face his breathing was under control and his color was returning to normal.

Phichit breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, now that you're calm I need you to tell me what precipitated this,” he said, smiling as he did.

“Do you need to know as my wedding planner or my best friend?” Yuuri whispered.

“Both, but right now the friend has the edge.”

Yuuri took a deep breath through his nose, held it for a count of five, then exhaled slowly through his mouth. He repeated the same sequence of actions twice more before the tension slid from his shoulders and he seemed more relaxed and comfortable. “The bakery called to let me know that there was a problem at their distributor's and they wouldn't be able to do the cake with the raspberry filling. They said they could do strawberry instead, and asked me if that was all right, and. . . I don't remember much after that.”

Phichit huffed out a laugh. “Is that all?” he asked, a fond smile playing across his lips. “I'll call them back with the approval.” He went to stand but was stopped by Yuuri's suddenly vice-like grip on his arm. “Yuuri?”

"All?!” Yuuri spat out, suddenly angry. “It's enough, isn't it?” Then his eyes filled with tears. “Viktor had his heart set on the raspberry filling, and -” He wailed again, tears in full spate. He was dangerously close to hyperventilating once more when the kitchen door was pushed open and Viktor rushed to his fiancé’s side, pushing Phichit none too gently out of the way. He grabbed Yuuri's hand that still clutched the paper bag and brought it to the younger man's face.

“Shh, _solnyshko_ ,” he murmured against dark hair as he tucked Yuuri against his chest and rocked him like a child. “It's all right, I'm here.” He glanced up at Phichit who stood against the counter, looking disgruntled. “What happened?”

The Thai man gave the Russian a succinct explanation before pushing away from the counter at his back. “I have to call the bakery and tell them the strawberry is okay,” he said before giving Viktor a sidelong glance. He looked like he was about to say something, but then he just shook his head and left the kitchen, muttering under his breath.

“Why do I get the feeling that Phichit somehow made you feel worse?” Viktor asked, rubbing circles on his fiancé’s back.

“It wasn't like that, Vitya. In fact he did probably the best thing for me.” Yuuri took a deep breath and pulled away slightly, just enough so that their eyes could meet. “He made me see that I was over-reacting to something that was really pretty insignificant, and even though I know better it all got ridiculously blown out of proportion. I just wanted a perfect wedding, and. . .” He sniffled loudly before burying his face against Viktor's neck.

Viktor just sat with his arms around his fiancé, waiting for Yuuri to calm down some more. “Yurochka, this wedding _will_ be perfect as long as I'm marrying you,” he whispered into the younger man's hair. “Everything else is just details.”

“But you wanted raspberry filling, and now have to settle for strawberry.”

“Yuuri, do you know why I wanted raspberry?” When Yuuri shook his head Viktor continued with a smile. “Because raspberries are such a summer thing, and summers can be so short in Russia. . . I wanted to have some of that warmth – or the illusion of it – before we have to go back to Saint Petersburg and life on the ice. I wanted our life off of the ice to begin with that emotional image, not because I like raspberries more than strawberries.” He chuckled. “The truth is quite the opposite. I adore strawberries.”

A hopeful light came into Yuuri's eyes. “Are you sure? You're not just saying that because you think it's what I want to hear, are you?”

Viktor drew an X over his heart, which made Yuuri laugh. Then he leaned in and kissed Viktor's cheek. “As long as we're together it'll always be warm,” he whispered.

They were both so engrossed in each other that they almost missed Yurio's sudden appearance. “You two are seriously the worst,” he grumbled before backing out of the kitchen and leaving them alone again.

****~**~**~**~**~****

During the rehearsal that evening Viktor pouted at not being allowed real sake, making Yuuri laugh and the Shinto priest shake his head and launch into a long explanation of the difference between the sake one would drink at home or in a bar and what was specially made for ceremonial purposes. Viktor listened with rapt attention, even asking Yuuri to translate when some words or expressions were unclear. “I don't want him to think I'm not taking this seriously,” he replied when Yuuri shot him a questioning glance. “I'd hate to have our wedding scotched at this late hour.”

“Oh, for fuck's -”

“Yura.” Yakov's unmistakable, gravelly voice cut the younger Russian's words off. Then he turned to Viktor. “I still can't believe you chose him as your best man,” he said, sadly shaking his head. A tiny smile was visible on his face, though, and his tone was undeniably affectionate.

Yuuri chuckled. “Well, he couldn't very well ask you, Coach. You have a much more important job -” He bit off his words when he noticed Viktor frantically shaking his head. And when he glanced at Yakov the older man only looked confused. “Viktor.”

A cough. “Yes, _moya lyubov_?”

“You didn't ask him, did you.” It wasn't a question, and Yuuri didn't even wait for a response before smacking his fiancé lightly on the back of his head. “The wedding is in sixteen hours, Viktor! How long were you planning to wait?”

“Ummmm. . .”

“Never mind,” Yuuri cut in, pushing a hand through his hair. “You're doing this now, no ifs, ands, or buts.” He poked Viktor in the chest to emphasize his words. “The rest of us will wait outside,” he concluded, taking his mother's arm and gesturing for his father, Phichit, and Yurio to follow. Hiroko burst into agitated speech, a garbled mix of English and Japanese, as they exited the temple.

“Vitya.”

Viktor yanked his attention back to his current circumstances and the moment that he had done everything he could to put off. But Yuuri was right in this, as he so often was. It needed to be done.

“I. . .” He coughed once to clear his throat then lifted his gaze so two pairs of blue eyes could meet. “Yuuri didn't lie, Yakov. There is a much more important job that I need you to undertake for this wedding.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to stand with me as my parents. Well, parent, at least. Father, to be exact. Just. . . I can't imagine anyone else in that spot, but if you don't want to do it I'll understa-” His words broke off when Yakov took hold of his shoulders and gave him a shake. Then all the breath left his body when his coach clasped him tight in an embrace. They simply stood like that for a long moment, enveloped by the silence of the temple.

Just as the situation was about to get uncomfortable Yakov spoke. “Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov, I'd be honored to stand as your father at your wedding,” the older man whispered before he pulled away and stroked Viktor's hair away from his face. “I know I've not told you as often as I should have, but I have always been proud of you. Even when you've done things I heartily disapproved of -”

“Like running away to Japan to coach another skater?”

Yakov chuckled. “Yes, exactly like that, although I have to admit that it turned out much better than I expected. That act of rebelliousness brought you something more precious than any gold medal, and I couldn't be happier for you. I. . . I never wanted you to sacrifice your happiness for your career, you know, and I'm so pleased -” His breath hitched. “So, so pleased that you finally realized that. Never stop fighting for the life you want and the love that goes along with it, Vitya, do you hear me? If I had learned that lesson as a young man Lilia and I might still. . .” He shook his head sadly. “Well, that issue is neither here nor there. But the rest? That is one order from your coach that needs to be obeyed without question.”

Viktor sniffed and cracked a watery smile. “Stop being sentimental or you'll make me cry, and how would my red eyes look in tomorrow's wedding photos?”

“I wouldn't worry about that; I'm sure Chulanont has an Instagram filter to fix it.”

They started to walk out of the temple, but Viktor laid a hand on Yakov's arms to halt the older man. “Yakov,” he began, swallowing once, hard. “Thank you. Thank you so much, for everything.” Then he hugged the older man, bending to rest his head on a broad shoulder.

“You're welcome. Son.”

 

_**T-Plus 2 minutes 14 seconds ~ AKA 10:02:14 AM Saturday, April 15** _

“Where is he? Why isn't he here yet?”

Yurio fidgeted on the cushion he sat on and adjusted the collar of his haori for approximately the eightieth time since they had arrived. “Relax, asshole, he'll be here. It's not like he's ever going to find another sucker as stupidly in love with him as you.”

“Yura!” Yakov exclaimed.

“Yurio, you wound me!” Viktor cried out, looking mortified. At least he had stopped worrying about the absence of his groom, though.

“Maybe,” was the smug response. “But it distracted you, didn't it? And just in time, too,” he concluded as the temple doors slid open and Phichit entered, followed by Yuuri, flanked on either side by his parents.

Viktor sucked in a breath and felt his heart stutter in his chest. He rose to his feet on shaky legs, somehow managing to avoid falling over. He stepped around the table, stopping just in front of it to bow to the Katsukis, and then to the priest. When he straightened up his eyes locked onto Yuuri's and his smile was filled with love. He stepped closer and took Yuuri's hands in his.

“You look beautiful, _solnyshko_.”

His hair was pushed back away from his face, the way he wore it when skating. The light flush on his cheeks rose underneath the frames of his glasses, and if Viktor's kimono was the rich green of new spring leaves Yuuri's was the warm brown of the earth, the foundation that allowed the tree to grow strong.

A more apt metaphor for their love simply wasn't possible.


End file.
